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Like so many times before, Remus was dodging the mail. He woke early on a Saturday, before the sun could rise and bring the sweltering June heat with it, in hopes of cracking open his shabby windows to let in the cool air. He wanted a single decent morning, one where he could sit on his good chair, sip tea, and not suffocate from heat. While opening the window, though, he noticed a small brown figure in the distance. As it drew closer, he groaned, and took a few steps back. A small, tawny owl swooped in through the opening. It dropped a thick envelope on his coffee table, and stood next to it, expectantly. His fist closed around the tea bag in his hand, and let out a strained breath.
“Just lovely,” he muttered. Remus knew one thing about mail: it was never good. Sure, it wasn’t always bad news, per se, though Remus had yet to receive good news in quite a long time. He had it narrowed down to three possibilities. 1. Bills. Even worse, bills Remus couldn’t pay, though more often than not, he couldn’t afford it. 2. Rejected job applications, ones which were crafted to appear polite, but had obvious undercurrents of apathy. 3. Guilt traps from his father.
Remus decided that the third option would be the worst, at least for his current mood. Too many times, he had received mail from his father. Pages of his father either ranting about how Remus needed to find a steady job so he could pay his bills, or contempt disguised as concern over Remus being a werewolf.
It always ended the same way. Yes, I’m applying for jobs. No, people won’t hire me because I’m a werewolf. Yes, I’m aware that people scorn people like me. And, I’m aware of how you feel about me as well. His father would then scold him over things he couldn’t control, and then have the audacity to ask why Remus never shows on Christmas morning.
So, yeah. Remus wasn’t exactly eager to open this letter. However, the owl shrieked at him, standing unblinking next to it.
“Tea first, then misery,” said Remus to the owl. The owl must have understood, for it turned its head away from Remus and began preening its feathers.
After making his morning tea, Remus sat in front of the couch, prepared for whatever the letter brought. He reached down for it- the owl nipped at his finger as he did so- and flipped it over. His breath caught as he noticed the seal. It was deep purple, and depicted an H surrounded by four very familiar animals. But why would Hogwarts be writing to me? He thought. He ran through the possibilities, though he came up with nothing. Besides, he graduated in ‘78. Either it had been sent by mistake, or there was an entirely different reason.
The wax seal broke, and he pulled out the parchment, only for even more surprise. He knew that handwriting, but why would Hagrid be writing to Remus?
Dear Remus,
Young Harry Potter is finishing his first year here at Hogwarts. I’m reaching out to all of James and Lily’s school friends. Have any pictures of them? I’m putting a little something together for him. Hope you’re alright.
Hagrid.
Remus blinked at the letter a few times. He read it over twice more, and then stared for a while longer. He hadn’t thought about Harry in some time. In fact, the last time he had even seen him- photos or anything- was when he was still an infant. Back when Saturdays meant staying in at James’, and not struggling to scrape up enough to afford a dilapidated cottage in Yorkshire.
He sat the letter down on the table and closed his eyes, trying to picture what Harry might look like now. Would he look like Lily? He knew he had her eyes, that much was clear from the day he was born. Or would he look more like James? Despite James and Lily bickering over it when he was first born, Remus wasn’t quite sure he looked like either of them back then. Not yet, at least. He seemed squishy and barely human yet.
He shook his head. Harry finished his first year at Hogwarts. Remus could remember his first year at Hogwarts, he thought. He remembered feeling so old back then, being eleven. He certainly felt mature, yet eleven year old Harry sounded so young in his mind. He was still a child. Remus felt a pang as he was reminded again about how he was no longer young. Sure, 31 wasn't old, though the ache in his joints after each moon did nothing but remind him that he was no longer seventeen.
He wasn’t carefree (not that he ever was.) He wasn’t in love. He wasn’t happy. He was a miserable wizard living alone, secretly longing for a time when he was younger… But there was a whole new generation of wizards and witches at Hogwarts now, who all felt as though Hogwarts is their home. For a second, Remus allowed himself to feel the bitter pang, maybe even jealousy, that it was his home first.
The owl’s eyes were focused on Remus once more. He stood from his couch, and begrudgingly walked down the hallway. For Harry, he thought. For their son. He opened the door to a closet, and took down a shoebox, whose corners had been worn soft, that had been fixed in the same spot from the very day he first moved in. It was set gently on the floor, and Remus knelt down beside it.
Inside it were various pictures, ranging from being taken on Remus’ first day at Hogwarts, all the way through mid ‘81.
He lifted up a small stack, sifted through, and landed on a sweet photo from James and Lily’s wedding night. In it, James and Lily were sitting at the table for dinner. He remembered that moment. The picture moved, showing Lily throwing her head back and covering her mouth in laughter, and James, turning red, burying his face into his arms. Despite the photo only moving, Remus could hear it. He could hear Lily’s laughter, and James groaning. He only wished he could remember what had been said. The next one, also on James and Lily’s wedding night, was more serious. It was their first dance, slow, but still sweet. They were smiling. Carefree, honest to goodness smiles. He put that one aside with the first photo.
The next photo he chose was from later on. Harry had just been born, laying in a bassinet, though he was almost out of the picture. What really showed was the look on James and Lily’s faces as they looked in, softened by awe. Then the next. Harry, at nine months, taking his first steps, guided by Lily. James, in the background, pointing and whipping his head around so fast in astonishment it was almost blurry. These too went in the pile.
Remus, caught between the urge to smile and cry, dug deeper into the box, pulling out a random stack. Photos from Hogwarts. One, their whole class the day they graduated. One of Lily and Remus, sleeping at the library while cramming for NEWTs. After each, he set them back in the box. Harry wouldn’t want these, he rationed. Yeah. I better keep these for myself. He needs parents, not students. Then, one of James positively grinning post-quidditch match, clutching a quaffle and several broken teeth, as if they were the trophy. Then one-
Remus dropped the photo as if it had just burned him.
He looked to the side, shifted how he was sitting, and stared blankly at the wall.
Remus was sitting, crisscrossed on the Gryffindor common room couch. It was dark outside the window, and the fire was casting moving shadows across his face. In his lap was a half written parchment, chewed-up quills, and additionally, Sirius’ legs. Remus snapped his head at Sirius who had just laid across him, and put his head back on the couch with a smug grin.
“Sirius, I’m being- serious- Merlin, help me.” Remus gave Sirius an exasperated look.
“What’s wrong, Moony?” Sirius said, tilting his head to the side.
“I need to get this paper done by tomorrow, and I cannot focus with you actually laying on top of me.” Remus set down his quill with force, and stared at Sirius, waiting for him to move. Remus heard a noise and noticed Peter taking a photo. “Peter, are you being for real?”
James vigorously nodded at the photo with a critical look, stroking his chin. “Angry is a good look on you, mate.”
“Sure as hell is,” said Sirius, crossing one leg over the other. Remus rolled his eyes and pushed Sirius off his lap, to Sirius’ dismay.
Remus picked the photo up again. You could see his frustration. The thing about it, though, was it wasn’t real anger. It was petty annoyance. There was something behind that mask of annoyance, though. Something that something prevented Remus from ever hating Sirius.
That something was gone now. An all too familiar thought struck him. When had that same something left Sirius? At what point did he turn? Had Sirius already changed his mind by then… or did that come later? He sighed into his hands… When did Sirius stop being his? Was he ever?
He set down the photo, and instead, picked up the one next to it, slipping it into his pocket.
Remus took the small stack of four photos, and slipped it back into the envelope, along with a quick note.
Hagrid,
Hope this helps. Best regards,
Remus.
He handed it to the owl, who nipped him once more, possibly for taking too long. The sun was high now, with hot and heavy air drifting in.
The tawny owl took off, becoming a speck in the sky. Without reaching, he could still feel the weight of the image that he impulsively put in his pocket. It was taken of the four of them, during their fifth year. Back when they were still young. Before the war started taking lives. Before the war started taking sides, he thought. This time, he could only hope it was so.